BARON TRIGAULT'S VENGEANCE
by Emile Gaboriau
A Sequel to "The Count's Millions"
I
Vengeance! that is the first, the only thought, when a man finds himselfvictimized, when his honor and fortune, his present and future,are wrecked by a vile conspiracy! The torment he endures under suchcircumstances can only be alleviated by the prospect of inflicting thema hundredfold upon his persecutors. And nothing seems impossible at thefirst moment, when hatred surges in the brain, and the foam of angerrises to the lips; no obstacle seems insurmountable, or, rather,none are perceived. But later, when the faculties have regained theirequilibrium, one can measure the distance which separates the dream fromreality, the project from execution. And on setting to work, how manydiscouragements arise! The fever of revolt passes by, and the victimwavers. He still breathes bitter vengeance, but he does not act. Hedespairs, and asks himself what would be the good of it? And in this waythe success of villainy is once more assured.
Similar despondency attacked Pascal Ferailleur when he awoke for thefirst time in the abode where he had hidden himself under the name ofMaumejan. A frightful slander had crushed him to the earth--he couldkill his slanderer, but afterward--? How was he to reach and stifle theslander itself? As well try to hold a handful of water; as well try tostay with extended arms the progress of the poisonous breeze which waftsan epidemic on its wings. So the hope that had momentarily lightenedhis heart faded away again. Since he had received that fatal letter fromMadame Leon the evening before, he believed that Marguerite was lost tohim forever, and in this case, it was useless to struggle against fate.What would be the use of victory even if he conquered? Marguerite lostto him--what did the rest matter? Ah! if he had been alone in the world.But he had his mother to think of;--he belonged to this brave-heartedwoman, who had saved him from suicide already. "I will not yield, then;I will struggle on for her sake," he muttered, like a man who foreseesthe futility of his efforts.
He rose, and had nearly finished dressing, when he heard a rap at hischamber door. "It is I, my son," said Madame Ferailleur outside.
Pascal hastened to admit her. "I have come for you because the woman youspoke about last evening is already here, and before employing her, Iwant your advice."
"Then the woman doesn't please you, mother?"
"I want you to see her."
On entering the little parlor with his mother, Pascal found himself inthe presence of a portly, pale-faced woman, with thin lips and restlesseyes, who bowed obsequiously. It was indeed Madame Vantrasson, thelandlady of the model lodging-house, who was seeking employment for thethree or four hours which were at her disposal in the morning, she said.It certainly was not for pleasure that she had decided to go out toservice again; her dignity suffered terribly by this fall--but thenthe stomach has to be cared for. Tenants were not numerous at the modellodging-house, in spite of its seductive title; and those who sleptthere occasionally, almost invariably succeeded in stealing something.Nor did the grocery store pay; the few half-pence which were leftthere occasionally in exchange for a glass of liquor were pocketed byVantrasson, who spent them at some neighboring establishment; for it isa well-known fact that the wine a man drinks in his own shop is alwaysbitter in flavor. So, having no credit at the butcher's or the baker's,Madame Vantrasson was sometimes reduced to living for days together uponthe contents of the shop--mouldy figs or dry raisins--which she washeddown with torrents of ratafia, her only consolation here below.
But this was not a satisfying diet, as she was forced to confess; so shedecided to find some work, that would furnish her with food and a littlemoney, which she vowed she would never allow her worthy husband to see.
"What would you charge per month?" inquired Pascal.
She seemed to reflect, and after a great deal of counting on herfingers, she finally declared that she would be content with breakfastand fifteen francs a month, on condition she was allowed to do themarketing. The first question of French cooks, on presenting themselvesfor a situation, is almost invariably, "Shall I do the marketing?"which of course means, "Shall I have any opportunities for stealing?"Everybody knows this, and nobody is astonished at it.
"I shall do the marketing myself," declared Madame Ferailleur, boldly.
"Then I shall want thirty francs a month," replied Madame Vantrasson,promptly.
Pascal and his mother exchanged glances. They were both unfavorablyimpressed by this woman, and were equally determined to rid themselvesof her, which it was easy enough to do. "Too dear!" said MadameFerailleur; "I have never given over fifteen francs."
But Madame Vantrasson was not the woman to be easily discouraged,especially as she knew that if she failed to obtain this situation, shemight have considerable difficulty in finding another one. She couldonly hope to obtain employment from strangers and newcomers, who wereignorant of the reputation of the model lodging-house. So in view ofsoftening the hearts of Pascal and his mother, she began to relate thehistory of her life, skilfully mingling the false with the true, andrepresenting herself as an unfortunate victim of circumstances, and theinhuman cruelty of relatives. For she belonged, like her husband, toa very respectable family, as the Maumejans might easily ascertain byinquiry. Vantrasson's sister was the wife of a man named Greloux, whohad once been a bookbinder in the Rue Saint-Denis, but who had nowretired from business with a competency. "Why had this Greloux refusedto save them from bankruptcy? Because one could never hope for a favorfrom relatives," she groaned; "they are jealous if you succeed; and ifyou are unfortunate, they cast you off."
However, these doleful complaints, far from rendering Madame Vantrassoninteresting, imparted a deceitful and most disagreeable expression toher countenance. "I told you that I could only give fifteen francs,"interrupted Madame Ferailleur--"take it or leave it."
Madame Vantrasson protested. She expressed her willingness to deductfive francs from the sum she had named, but more--it was impossible!Would they haggle over ten francs to secure such a treasure as herself,an honest, settled woman, who was entirely devoted to her employers?"Besides, I have been a grand cook in my time," she added, "and I havenot lost all my skill. Monsieur and madame would be delighted with mycooking, for I have seen more than one fine gentleman smack his lipsover my sauces when was in the employment of the Count de Chalusse."
Pascal and his mother could not repress a start on hearing this name;but it was in a tone of well-assumed indifference that Madame Ferailleurrepeated, "M. de Chalusse?"
"Yes, madame--a count--and so rich that he didn't know how much he wasworth. If he were still alive I shouldn't be compelled to go out toservice again. But he's dead and he's to be buried this very day." Andwith an air of profound secrecy, she added: "On going yesterday tothe Hotel de Chalusse to ask for a little help, I heard of the greatmisfortune. Vantrasson, my husband, accompanied me, and while we weretalking with the concierge, a young woman passed through the hall, andhe recognized her as a person who some time ago was--well--no betterthan she should be. Now, however, she's a young lady as lofty as theclouds, and the deceased count has been passing her off as his daughter.Ah! this is a strange world."
Pascal had become whiter than the ceiling. His eyes blazed; and MadameFerailleur trembled. "Very well," she said, "I will give you twenty-fivefrancs--but on condition you come without complaining if I sometimesrequire your services of an evening. On these occasions I will give youyour dinner." And taking five francs from her pocket she placed them inMadame Vantrasson's hand, adding: "Here is your earnest money."
The other quickly pocketed the coin, not a little surprised by thissudden decision which she had scarcely hoped for, and which she by nomeans understood. Still she was so delighted with this denouement thatshe expr
essed her willingness to enter upon her duties at once; and toget rid of her Madame Ferailleur was obliged to send her out to purchasethe necessary supplies for breakfast. Then, as soon as she was alonewith her son, she turned to him and asked: "Well, Pascal?"
But the wretched man seemed turned to stone, and seeing that he neitherspoke nor moved, she continued in a severe tone: "Is this the way youkeep your resolutions and your oaths! You express your intentionof accomplishing a task which requires inexhaustible patience anddissimulation, and at the very first unforeseen circumstance yourcoolness deserts you, and you lose your head completely. If it had notbeen for me you would have betrayed yourself in that woman's presence.You must renounce your revenge, and tamely submit to be conquered by theMarquis de Valorsay if your face is to be an open book in which any onemay read your secret plans and thoughts."
Pascal shook his head dejectedly. "Didn't you hear, mother?" hefaltered.
"Hear what?"
"What that vile woman said? This young lady whom she spoke of, whom herhusband recognized, can be none other than Marguerite."
"I am sure of it."
He recoiled in horror. "You are sure of it!" he repeated; "and you cantell me this unmoved--coldly, as if it were a natural, a possible thing.Didn't you understand the shameful meaning of her insinuations? Didn'tyou see her hypocritical smile and the malice gleaming in her eyes?" Hepressed his hands to his burning brow, and groaned "And I did not crushthe infamous wretch! I did not fell her to the ground!"
Ah! if she had obeyed the impulse of her heart. Madame Ferailleur wouldhave thrown her arms round her son's neck, and have mingled her tearswith his, but reason prevailed. The worthy woman's heart was pervadedwith that lofty sentiment of duty which sustains the humble heroinesof the fireside, and lends them even more courage than the recklessadventurers whose names are recorded by history could boast of. She feltthat Pascal must not be consoled, but spurred on to fresh efforts;and so mustering all her courage, she said: "Are you acquainted withMademoiselle Marguerite's past life? No. You only know that hers hasbeen a life of great vicissitudes--and so it is not strange that sheshould be slandered."
"In that case, mother," said Pascal, "you were wrong to interrupt MadameVantrasson. She would probably have told us many things."
"I interrupted her, it is true, and sent her away--and you know why. Butshe is in our service now; and when you are calm, when you have regainedyour senses, nothing will prevent you from questioning her. It may beuseful for you to know who this man Vantrasson is, and how and where hemet Mademoiselle Marguerite."
Shame, sorrow, and rage, brought tears to Pascal's eyes. "My God!" heexclaimed, "to be reduced to the unspeakable misery of hearing my motherdoubt Marguerite!" He did not doubt her. HE could have listened to themost infamous accusations against her without feeling a single doubt.However, Madame Ferailleur had sufficient self-control to shrug hershoulders. "Ah, well! silence this slander," she exclaimed. "I wish fornothing better; but don't forget that we have ourselves to rehabilitate.To crush your enemies will be far more profitable to MademoiselleMarguerite than vain threats and weak lamentations. It seemed to me thatyou had sworn to act, not to complain."
This ironical thrust touched Pascal's sensitive mind to the quick; herose at once to his feet, and coldly said, "That's true. I thank you forhaving recalled me to myself."
She made no rejoinder, but mentally thanked God. She had read her son'sheart, and perceiving his hesitation and weakness she had supplied thestimulus he needed. Now she saw him as she wished to see him. Now he wasready to reproach himself for his lack of courage and his weakness indisplaying his feelings. And as a test of his powers of endurance, hedecided not to question Madame Vantrasson till four or five days hadelapsed. If her suspicions had been aroused, this delay would suffice todispel them.
He said but little during breakfast; for he was now eager to commencethe struggle. He longed to act, and yet he scarcely knew how to beginthe campaign. First of all, he must study the enemy's position--gainsome knowledge of the men he had to deal with, find out exactly who theMarquis de Valorsay and the Viscount de Coralth were. Where could heobtain information respecting these two men? Should he be compelled tofollow them and to gather up here and there such scraps of intelligenceas came in his way? This method of proceeding would be slow andinconvenient in the extreme. He was revolving the subject in his mindwhen he suddenly remembered the man who, on the morning that followedthe scene at Madame d'Argeles's house, had come to him in the Rue d'Ulmto give him a proof of his confidence. He remembered that this strangeman had said: "If you ever need a helping hand, come to me." And at therecollection he made up his mind. "I am going to Baron Trigault's," heremarked to his mother; "if my presentiments don't deceive me, he willbe of service to us."
In less than half an hour he was on his way. He had dressed himself inthe oldest clothes he possessed; and this, with the change he had madeby cutting off his hair and beard, had so altered his appearance thatit was necessary to look at him several times, and most attentively, torecognize him. The visiting cards which he carried in his pocket borethe inscription: "P. Maumejan, Business Agent, Route de la Revolte." Hisknowledge of Parisian life had induced him to choose the same professionas M. Fortunat followed--a profession which opens almost every door."I will enter the nearest cafe and ask for a directory," he said tohimself. "I shall certainly find Baron Trigault's address in it."
The baron lived in the Rue de la Ville-l'Eveque. His mansion was oneof the largest and most magnificent in the opulent district of theMadeleine, and its aspect was perfectly in keeping with its owner'scharacter as an expert financier, and a shrewd manufacturer, thepossessor of valuable mines. The marvellous luxury so surprised Pascal,that he asked himself how the owner of this princely abode could findany pleasure at the gaming table of the Hotel d'Argeles. Five or sixfootmen were lounging about the courtyard when he entered it. He walkedstraight up to one of them, and with his hat in his hand, asked: "BaronTrigault, if you please?"
If he had asked for the Grand Turk the valet would not have looked athim with greater astonishment. His surprise, indeed, seemed so profoundthat Pascal feared he had made some mistake and added: "Doesn't he livehere?"
The servant laughed heartily. "This is certainly his house," he replied,"and strange to say, by some fortunate chance, he's here."
"I wish to speak with him on business."
The servant called one of his colleagues. "Eh! Florestan--is the baronreceiving?"
"The baroness hasn't forbidden it."
This seemed to satisfy the footman; for, turning to Pascal he said: "Inthat case, you can follow me."